


I Don't Go To The Gym For You

by Yesacia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, more modern AU, semi-college AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yesacia/pseuds/Yesacia
Summary: Lance is having issues with his bisexuality, and the cute guy at the Gym he goes to after class isn't helping. // Rated M for sexual content, but it's pretty vague and not real smut. The actual act of sex itself is implied really. It'll show up in a later chapter.





	I Don't Go To The Gym For You

The entire purpose of going to the gym so late at night was so that he could work out alone. So why was it, every single night, without fail, this weirdo with a mullet was also there? What kind of life did he have, where he had all this free time to go to the gym? Lance desperately just wanted him to go away, for more than one reason.  
For one, the guy always played some kind of music on his headphones, loud and screaming with a heavy bass that always seemed to distract him from his own work out. He also always seemed to get there first and completely hog the best equipment all night. Half way through the night, the guy always tied his hair up in a short pony tail that bobbed around, distracting him further, and never seemed to break out into a sweat quite as quick as Lance did. Though it was close. Something about this guy really seemed to burn his competitive nature, and when some broken equipment had forced the pair to run treadmills right next to each other, he decided to attempt to make it less awkward by waving at the guy.  
He gave Lance a funny look but didn't otherwise reply.  
Rude.  
After weeks of seeing the guy in the gym, he'd become almost as much a part of it as the equipment, and it became much easier to ignore him, until Lance caught him bench pressing more than his own weight with relative ease. He really didn't look that strong, but it got worse when he came in early one night to see the guy sitting cross legged on the ground in the corner, a serenely calm look on his face. What was he doing, sleeping? He a loose fit tank top that exposed defined shoulders, torn sides dipped just below his ribs. It barely covered him, he may as well not have been wearing a shirt at all, and Lance's mind wondered what that would look like. He felt his brain slam the breaks and heels dug into the ground, heat rushing to his face as he picked the only equipment that faced away from the guy.  
He hit the treadmill hard, thinking of his mother as the rosary she had given him as child thumped against his chest. What would his mother think? That was pretty... gay. He convinced himself it wasn't- he wasn't- and ran a bit faster. A light tap on his shoulder made him jump, and he nearly fell, the safety clip yanking out of the machine and the belt coming to a screeching halt. He caught himself on the arm of the machine and glared at the thing that caused to ruckus. He locked on to a grey blue- almost violet in the right light- eyes that looked a little surprised, a little apologetic, but very pretty.  
"Sorry-"  
"What the heck, dude?" Lance snapped, blushing and not sure why his voice had gone that high. He chuckled a little, offering him a bottle of water, a towel over his shoulder. The guy had tied the tank top at the side to tighten it, and pale exposed abs hit the slim waist of his red jogging pants and Lance's eyes like a ton of bricks. Lance shot his eyes back up to the guys face, who tilted his head a little, a curious look in his eyes.  
"I just- you've been hitting it pretty hard." He offered him the water bottle again, And this time Lance took it. He mumbled something as Lance took a long gulp. It almost sounded like the guy had called his face pretty, and Lance nearly spit.  
"What?"  
"Your face is pretty red." He explained more clearly, a hand gesturing to his own red face. Lance frowned, pretty sure that wasn't what he'd heard, but it made a lot more sense.  
"Oh. Thanks." He motioned towards the guy with his bottle. "For this, I mean." The guy shrugged.  
"No problem." He started to make his way to the other side of the room, and Lance found words floundering out of his mouth before he could stop them.  
"The name's Lance, by the way." The guy glanced over his shoulder, looking honestly surprised, before a small smile curled up his lips that shot Lance right in the chest.  
"Keith." He walked away, dabbing his face with a towel and kneeling for his gym bag, and Lance couldn't peel his eyes away.  
Oh. He was screwed.


End file.
